


Artistic Freedom of Connect the Dots

by masked



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Reality Show, Bisexual Dean Winchester, Castiel and Dean Winchester Being Idiots, Demisexual Castiel (Supernatural), F/F, M/M, Mutual Pining, Romantic Comedy, Sneaking Around
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-01
Updated: 2017-04-01
Packaged: 2018-10-07 20:07:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10368432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/masked/pseuds/masked
Summary: Who would’ve thought that anyone would find actual, genuine, bonafide love on an all American reality TV dating game show?Certainly, not Dean Winchester.





	

**Author's Note:**

> written for the 5k mid-winter challenge by [deancas tropefest](http://deancastropefest.tumblr.com)! the banner was also generously provided by the mod [museaway](https://archiveofourown.org/users/museaway). Thank you! 
> 
> a big special thanks to [Chantal](http://pleaseturnoffthedoor.tumblr.com/) and [Em](http://hellosaidthemoonisafangirl.tumblr.com/) for offering wonderful beta advice, as well as love and support.
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
>   
> 

As all horror stories go, it begins on a dark, foggy night.

The host turns to Ryan with a sympathetic smile.

“Ryan.”

Dean holds the rose in his clammy hands, and turns to Ryan, who gives a tight smile at being singled out.

“I’m sorry, Ryan, but you were not given a rose,” the host says with a shake of his head. “It’s time for you to go.”

Ryan nods—at the host, at Bela—gives Dean a pat on the back, and walks out of the door like the many challengers before him have.

It’s amazing how differently people can act when there’s a camera on them.    

“Congratulations, Dean,” the host continues, directing their attentions back to him, “and Castiel. For making it all the way as the two finalists of _Marrying Rich_!”

Dean shares a glance with Cas. He should probably be happy. This is a good thing. Probably.

“As you may already know, both of you will now have a chance to propose to our billionaire the next time we meet, with her home town as the final stage for the grand finale.”

Yeah, he’s fucking screwed.

The host continues on in extensive details about what happens next (honestly, does he have to talk so much? Dean’s sure that literally everyone watching the show knows what’s going on by now) and after his one-on-one interview, he’s dismissed for the night—from the “official” shooting, anyway. There are cameras installed in every corners of this place, turned on all night for some exclusive footages. Creepy as fuck, but that’s what Dean apparently signed up for. Oh well.

Cas is doing his interview when Ryan’s voice carries over the set. “That fucking bitch,” he spits at the make-up artist, who winces at his words. It’s said loud enough to not be mistaken as something that shouldn’t be overheard. “I swear, she’s the dumbest fucking—”

“You can say it to my face, you know,” Bela cuts in from behind him, her arms crossed. “Or is that too much drama even for you?”

There’s a buzz among the crew, which must mean that this isn’t part of the script. A camera man runs past him, making sure to get the fight, and—

“What’s happening?”

“ _Jesus_!” Dean glares. “Dude, seriously.”

Cas shrugs, and they turn their attentions back to the scene, with Ryan red in the face as he spits more malicious words at Bela. She’s got more chill than Ryan will ever have in his lifetime.

“He thought you were going to be one to go home,” Cas explains quietly. “I heard him at his interview last night.”

Dean raises his eyebrows. “Never liked that dick, anyway.”

Even from their distance, he hears Bela’s snort. “Guess you just didn’t kiss the right asses, then,” she says in response to something Ryan says. Damn, she ain’t pulling punches.

“You know that everyone’s here for your money anyway, right?” Ryan continues, and, well, _duh_. The show’s called _Marrying Rich_ for a reason. Ryan’s eyes are about to pop out of his sockets, he’s opening them so wide. “How can you choose someone like _that_ —” Dean can’t see who he’s referring to, but he’s got a pretty good idea, “—over someone like _me_? You made the stupidest mistake of your life, you—”

“Oh, get over it,” Bela replies, and walks away from the spectacle. “Hannah, can you touch up on my eyes before my one-on-one?”

Hannah, aka the make-up artist who’s sidestepped during the fight, leaves Ryan’s handsome gaping face behind to join Bela. The crew scatters without much more fuss after that, and Ryan is politely and firmly ushered out of the set.

Cas squeezes his shoulder. “I never liked that dick, either.”

 

* * *

 

Honestly, it wasn’t supposed to be like this.

He applied for a spot as a contestant because he’d heard that these types of shows really exist for rich people to find a play mate for a while, and once they get bored, they pay them to fuck off without too much scandal. Dean was perfectly fine with that; he just didn’t think he’d ever actually make it all this way as one of the fucking finalists.

Damn it. He knew he should’ve gone on _Survivor_ instead.

Well, okay. Realistically speaking, he’s totally cool with being a finalist (with _this_ face? He’d be offended for any less). And technically, he knows that the showrunners have already decided ( _strongly advises_ were the exact wordings he’d heard them tell Bela) that Cas will be chosen at the finale, so it’s not like he’s at any _real_ risk to even pretend to be engaged to a stranger he’s spent maybe two months with.  

Just that… well. Instead of focusing on the supposed rich bachelorette, his brain took a whooping hike around the whole point of applying to be a contestant and decided that hey, that one other cute contestant who’s got a weird name is cute, huh? Might be a shame if he ended up with a tiny, little, _miniscule_ crush on him, who ended up being the one other finalist, huh?

 _Well_. It’s not like Cas have been good about this whole deal either, if they’re taking into account all the knowing glances exchanged between him and Cas since the day they were introduced. Which may have led to little coy touches here and in between the two months they’ve spent travelling together.

…Which _may_ have escalated to sort of a quick make out in the washroom that one time. Which sort of led to more of those whenever they had a chance all those _other_ times. It’s not like those times spent together were anything special—just some tame fun between two thirsty consenting adults with no feelings involved whatsoever.

At least, that’s what they were _supposed_ to be. Obviously, Dean’s brain’s got a knack for taking a detour from the whole point of whatever Dean decides to do.

(somehow Cas always magically knows where all the camera blind spots are no matter how many times they move villas)

(other than accidentally running into Bela a few times before or after their uh, rendezvous, they’ve been pretty sneaky about it, if he does say so himself)

Fuck. Dean should’ve known that he was going to be in trouble the moment Cas made that dumb goofy face, talking about sting rays or something that one time. They were in a hot tub. Cas has a very nice body.

(not to mention his nicer eyes, and his even nicer smiles. The first time he saw his jawline up close, he thought his entire body got shot into the astral plane and only his consciousness got left behind to savour whatever the hell was happening. And he’s got these nice, strong hands attached to nice, strong arms, which, as Dean found out with glee, can lift him up without much effort, and his muscly _thighs_ , and…)

Where was he? Oh, yeah. In hindsight, he probably should’ve seen all this coming.

And, yeah, okay, he _is_ on a reality TV show that’s all about finding the love of your life, blah blah blah. His fault for being surprised about it, he supposes.

He just never thought that it would actually _happen_ to him.

With the wrong person, too.

 

* * *

 

They’re in Canada.

“We’re in Canada,” Dean announces to no one in particular as they officially land.

Cas hears him anyway, and inclines his head. “Is there a problem?”

“Yeah,” Dean wrinkles his nose. With Cas as his plane buddy, flying isn’t as traumatizing as it usually is. “We’re in _Canada_.”

Canada looks like parts of America, except it’s kilometers instead of miles, everything’s got French on it, and they don’t randomly have huge signs on the side of their tree-filled highways telling them to go repent for their sins. Canada is also fucking huge; sure, Dean’s done road trips here and there with Sam before, but that was across several states. It takes them five fucking hours (five! fucking! _hours_!) from the airport to arrive in a town surrounded by lakes and trees, and they’re apparently somehow _still_ in the same state.

“Province,” Cas corrects, and Dean naturally rolls his eyes. Canada, _pff._

The two finalists and the bachelorette are obligated to spend some time together for the last time before the finale, so they’re left to cruise around the little town with few cameramen in tow while most of the staffs head back to their lodge to set up all the cameras.

“My home town is actually further up north from here,” Bela explains before the cameras start rolling. “But since it’s such a dinky little town, I suppose that they decided this place is more appropriate.”

They grab a quick lunch at a poutine place, because apparently being in Canada means that they have to eat the most Canadian thing possible. At one point, they extensively document the way Dean hands Bela a wad of napkins. Romantic.

Cas is far better off than him, by supposedly spotting a flower shop (under strict directions) and coming back out with a small bouquet of roses. Every camera (save for one directed at Dean’s reaction) is focused on Bela’s expression, who smiles politely and thanks him. Cas smiles back, and they share a Moment, and Dean pretends to be staring inside another store while absolutely _not_ reading into how Cas’s hand brushes against hers when he gives her the bouquet. Nope.

Not much else happens as far as he sees, but he’s sure the editing team will be able to come up with something out of the two hour footage they have of them exploring the town together. It’s pretty late by the time they actually arrive at the cottage, and since there’s no more shooting until tomorrow, they have some free time for the rest of the night while they wait for dinner. While Cas and Bela relax in their own rooms, Dean sneaks out to the kitchen.

The head chef, Cindy, crosses her arms when he arrives. “Dean…” she warns.

“C’mon, Cindy! Let me help,” he replies with his most charming grin. “I’m bored out of my mind, and you’d be doing me a solid. Please?”

She shoots him a look, and moves out of the way with a sigh. “If you want to help peel the soybeans.”

Dean does want to peel the beans, and chats with the rest of the kitchen staff while he does so.

“I’ve been on this crew for a while now,” one of the older ladies, Michelle, says, “but you’re the first one to always come and help us, Dean.”

“What can I say? I’m special like that.”

Everyone in the kitchen laughs, and he grins along. They all know that he’s used to the occasional call for help at Benny and Liz’s restaurant. When Dean texted Benny about it, he called him crazy for not taking the rare opportunity for Dean to relax.

He’s right, of course, but Dean also needs to do something to keep him occupied while he absolutely doesn’t angst over Cas right now. He’s not sure how he feels about being viewed as competition against Cas when he feels more or less like he’s competing _for_ Cas.

“We’re all rooting for you, you know,” says Ann-Marie, another older lady.

He laughs. “Thanks.” He doesn’t really have the heart to tell them that a freelancer programmer like him being chosen is far less interesting to the public than a big shot like Cas, thus the showrunners’ ~~decision~~ strong-worded advice to Bela to choose Cas. More reason for him to hide and mope.

“But I’m surprised about the other one,” Michelle points out. “I didn’t think he’d make it through the first round with him constantly frowning like that.”

“I heard he’s also rich,” Ann-Marie explains, and Michelle nods like that explains everything about Cas. “In any case, the main this time has strange tastes.”

“Whoa, hey now,” Dean butts in, mock-offended.

“Not you,” Ann-Marie replies. “You’re a keeper.”

“I know,” Dean says with exaggeration, drawing out some laughs. “But Cas ain’t so bad.”

Ann-Marie and Michelle exchange a look. “Really?”

“Yeah.”

Cas ain’t so bad, like oh, he doesn’t know, how he’d looked more forward to group activities than his one-on-one times with Bela since it meant more time with Cas. How their little arrangement of sneaking off was all fun and games until, until it _wasn’t_. Like how he’s completely forgotten all about the possibility of money that Dean can earn if he just does what they tell him to do, and those trails of thoughts have led to him hiding in the staff kitchen peeling beans to avoid thinking about all that.

Well, he definitely won’t forget the purpose of hiding here, so he’s not going to think about it. He’s going to peel these god damn beans if it costs him his life, and he’s _not_ going to think about it.  

“Dean,” Cindy calls then. “We’re almost done here, so why don’t you head on back out?”

She eyes the door with raised eyebrows, and Dean follows her eyes to find… Cas, standing with his back to the door, oblivious to their stares.

Oops.

“Uh, yeah.” Dean coughs. He hates that he blushes way too easily. “Thanks.”

“Mr. Shurley?” one of the staffs asks as Dean walks towards the door. “Did you need something?”

“Oh. Um.” Cas’s eyes meet Dean’s, and back to the staff. “I was just wondering when dinner will be ready.”

“Twenty minutes, give or take.”

“Thank you,” he replies politely, and stalks behind Dean out into the hallway.

There’s a weird sort of prickling sensation with Cas walking behind him, the taps of his feet against the wooden floor a constant reminder. This wasn’t planned, and Dean hasn’t seen him all day since their little tour around town. His entire body and mind are hyperfocused on what might be happening behind him; he wants to turn around, but he’s not as blind-spot savvy as Cas is, and doesn’t want anything unnecessary to be caught on camera.

Just as they’re about to turn a corner, Cas grabs for him, and yanks him into a room.

Okay, yeah. Moping or not, Dean definitely likes _this_ part of down time.

They’re on each other before they can even get a word in. Dean’s being shoved into a wall with a leg nudging in between his own, and honestly, he can get used to being greeted like this by Cas instead of his usual—

“Hello, Dean,” Cas breathes.

Dean huffs. “Hey, Cas.” His lips brush against Cas’s cheek. “Miss me much?”

Cas responds with a mouth on his jawline, moving his way to the one sensitive spot that has Dean’s toes curl up.

“Christ—” Dean clutches at the back of Cas’s shirt like his life depends on it while Cas sucks lightly enough to not leave a mark, but strong enough for him to feel electric jolts shot all over. “Jesus _Christ_ —”

Cas huffs hotly against his neck, and pulls back much to Dean’s disappointment.

“Why’d you stop?” Dean looks at the door, which remains closed. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s rude to call for someone else while you’re being propositioned.”

“Who—” Dean chortles. “Are you fucking serious? _Jesus Christ_?”

“He was human at one point,” Cas replies seriously, and Dean’s honestly not sure how they ended up with this topic while making out in secret from hundreds of crew people still somewhere in the building, let alone the thousands of people who watch the show. Cas gives him a _look_. “You have no manners.”

“And _you’re_ —” Dean can’t even think of a good come back because he’s laughing too much.

“What?” Cas nudges.

“Fuck, c’mere,” he mutters, and closes the distance between them again before Cas starts quoting New Testament.

The kiss is softer than the residue heat simmering between them: less desperate, less horny-teenagers-making-out-in-the-closet. When Cas leans away after, his hair that was smoothly combed is now more or less a disaster. He blinks, and focuses on Dean with a smile.

“Someone’s happy,” Dean quips.

“That was nice,” Cas agrees.

They intertwine their fingers, and Dean stares down, not quite able to meet Cas’s adoring look right now. The sight of their hands still gives him a bit of a squeeze in his chest. Cas sighs, and buries his face into the crook of Dean’s neck. Dean sees nothing but an auburn mess of hair on top of him while Cas gives him a light kiss on his skin, and leans back. He plays with Dean’s fingers.

“Having fun there?” Dean asks.

“I like your hands,” Cas replies simply, like that one sentence isn’t enough to reduce Dean to a pile of lovesick goop. He’s got it bad. “They’re interesting.”

Dean huffs with a weak smile. “ _How_? They’re just fingers.”

Cas thumbs over the base of his fingers. “Like how they’re a bit calloused at the base.”

“Kinky. That what you’re into?”

Cas levels him with another look. Fuck, he’s endearing. “I like them because they’re yours.”

Oh. With Cas saying shit like that, he really, _really_ can’t help but have some tiny (little, _miniscule_ ) hope that maybe this thing between them _can_ be more than the occasional make-out buddies doing their thing. Shit, that’d be the best damn scenario to happen out of this mess, but…

It’s not something either of them initially signed up for. It sobers him up enough to remind him that this is a good time as any to give him the courage to open up the conversation to the floor.

“Cas—”

“Dean, I—”

Dean blinks at Cas, who looks like how Dean feels. “You first.”

Cas shakes his head. “You spoke first.”

“Um.” Dean clears his throat. “Okay. I’m not going to propose to Bela.”

Cas’s fingers still. He still has the bluest eyes Dean’s ever seen. “Why not?”

His hopes die down a little (okay, a _lot_ , but whatever, it’s fine. This is for himself first and foremost), but he doesn’t let himself dwindle.

“I know we’re supposed to follow the script, and they’re pushing for both of us to propose for the drama, but I—I can’t.”

Cas’s eyes widen, and Dean licks his dry lips. He doesn’t technically owe him any explanations—they started out as virtual strangers who happened to find each other attractive. Few days later from now, they’ll be on their separate ways.

And yet. “I mean, Bela’s cool and all, but she’s not the one I want to be with. Even if it’s mostly for show, it feels… wrong.”

“Then…”

“Yeah.” Dean scratches his cheek. “Besides, I think they’ve got eyes on you as the final choice, anyway.”

“Oh.”

They sit there on the bed (when did they move to the bed?), and they just… stare at each other. It’s awkward. This whole thing they had for a while is a bigger deal for Dean than he likes to admit, but it shouldn’t be a big deal for Cas—part of his big-shot family company, hoping to win over Bela’s alliance with whatever means necessary. He’ll be fine once Dean’s out of his hair.

He just doesn’t understand why he won’t say anything.

Maybe the worse part of him had hoped that this actually meant something for Cas, too. Something a little more, something that Cas would hold up over _his_ original purpose of being on the show.

But pipe dreams won’t help anyone here. “Okay,” Dean says, and starts to get up. He’s got to shake himself out of it. “So. Um. Good luck and stuff. It’s been fun.”

Cas jerks, his hand clasping onto Dean’s wrist. “Wait,” he says, pulling Dean back down, then letting go quickly when he realizes what he’s doing.

“Um.”

“The—person you mentioned, the one you want to be with. Can I ask who it is?”

He feels a blush creeping up to his cheeks. Who the hell else does he think it is, honestly?

Cas’s shoulders falter a little. “Is it Benny?”

There’s a pause in Dean’s brain. What?

Instead of waiting for a response like a normal person, Cas nods to himself and somersaults straight to conclusions. “He’s… very lucky to have you,” he continues, and—

“Cas, wha— _no_ , it’s not _Benny_.”

In the middle of forming a word, Cas closes his mouth, and tries again. “Oh.” He squints. “I understand.”

“Do you?” Dean strains out.

Cas gives a slight nod. “You have no obligation to tell me who it is. But whoever you choose, I know that you’ll make them happy, Dean.”

“ _Dude_ , it’s obviously _you,_ ” Dean blurts-half-yells. “Who _else_ have I been macking on this whole time?”

Cas blinks. “What?”

“How is that—” Dean frantically waves his hands around. “Anyway, it’s not like I was going to—whatever,” he grits, feeling more and more like a fucking tool. “It doesn’t matter. Just, good luck, okay?”

“Dean,” Cas says, clutching at Dean’s sleeve. “ _Dean_ , sit down.”

“ _Cas_ , I don’t need you to—”

“I was going to tell you that I won’t be proposing at the finale, either.”

The way the words rush out from Cas’s tripping tongue gives him the pause that he needs.

“What?”

“I wanted to ask you if you wanted to continue this,” he gestures the space between them, “after all this is over, because I… I would like to see you again, Dean. Outside of all this nonsense, too.”

Dean stares at Cas’s blue, blue eyes. “What?” Dean repeats dumbly.

Cas frowns. “Who else have I been ‘macking on’ this whole time?”

“Dude, you can’t quote me to _me_ , and air quotes are so not classy,” Dean jabs, and Cas’s frown only deepens. “And that’s not what I—we—I thought you just wanted someone to fool around with!”

“Dean,” Cas grits firmly, and Dean’s never seen Cas not be able to hold eye contact. Cas is _embarrassed_. “I’ve never. You were the first that I ever even _wanted_ to—to ‘fool around’ with.”

Disregarding the air quotes. “Really?”

“Yes. I—” Cas sighs. “Is that so hard to believe? What we had was nice. I thought that was reciprocated.”

“Fuck, I mean, _yeah_ , but—I thought you came on this show in the first place so Bela can be your family company’s sponsor, or something. That shit’s important to you.”

“ _You’re_ important to me, Dean,” Cas replies with a pained voice, and holy shit, holy shit, what is happening right now. “More than what my… Is that why you’ve been avoiding me all night?” His expression clears. “Because you thought I’d accept your forfeit and just… go along my way?”

“What? No.”

“ _Dean_.”

“Ugh,” Dean replies eloquently, and kisses Cas. He hopes it’ll speak louder than anything he can offer right now, on how fucking glad he is about Cas wanting him after there’s nothing else to tether them together, though he doesn’t know what he sees in him other than a pretty face and a great kisser—

“You’re more than that,” Cas kisses back. “In the short time I’ve known you, I know that there are so much more to you than that.” He smiles the wide smile Dean’s only ever seen in private. He feels a strange privilege from being the receiver of that smile. “You’re incredible.”

Cas kisses him again after that, which is probably a good decision as he swallows down any of Dean’s embarrassed babbling along with it, and it should feel overwhelming, but it’s so good, this is so fucking _awesome_ , best fucking scenario achieved. Fuck yeah.

They’re holding hands again before Dean knows it, and a chuckle escapes him. “We’re both fucking idiots.”

“Mm.”

It’s definitely been longer than twenty minutes. “D’you think they noticed that we’re not at dinner?”

“Probably.”

It doesn’t stop Dean from going right back into Cas’s arms and kissing the hell out of him.

Except the door bursts open.

Dean jumps, and finds Bela at the door, gaping at him and Cas, tangled into one giant mess.

The make-up artist, Hannah, is there.

Holding Bela’s hand.

He’s not sure who moves first: Dean and Cas automatically moving apart for the sake of decency, or Bela and Hannah letting go of each other’s hands. Hannah closes the door behind her, and the click echoes in the otherwise silent room.

Well, then. Two grown men clinging at each other on a bed doesn’t leave much room for assumption. Not that Bela and Hannah are much better than them, if the guilt riding on their shoulders is any indication.

It’s silent.

Dean coughs, and all eyes are on him. He gives a shaky grin. He feels a bit like he’s been emotionally flayed, what with the intense talk he just had with Cas, and now this. “Awkward.”

“Only if you make it awkward,” Bela thankfully replies, taking the rein of this conversation. The slight flush on her face is gone, replaced by the scheming glint in her eyes. “Gentlemen, I think we have a lot to talk about.”

It turns out that Bela and Hannah have been pulling a him-and-Cas this whole time—sneaking off to blind spots and savouring whatever intimacy they can scavenge, meeting in secrecy only when they were absolutely sure that they were safe.

“So, what, you were going to say ‘fuck you’ to whatever they suggested for the finale?” Dean asks.

Hannah shakes her head with a smile, though it doesn’t reach her eyes. “No, she’s not—”

“Yes,” Bela replies, glancing at Hannah’s widening eyes, and back to Dean and Cas. They’ve got their own issues to talk about, then. “I only kept you around until the finale because I can actually stand you two. Oh, don’t give me that cheeky face,” she rolls her eyes at Dean’s grin. “You’re not _that_ special.”

“Aww,” Dean jabs at Cas’s side. “She _likes_ us.”

“Yes. I do, don’t I?” Bela replies thoughtfully. “So then, I can start investing in you, Castiel, with an obvious reason for showing favouritism to your family as opposed to others that I’m not interested in working with. You understand why I couldn’t do so before this whole charade where we became the best of friends on nation-wide television?”

Cas blinks in surprise, but quickly gets with the program, and nods.

Bela smiles contently. “And now that we’re all in the know, you won’t have to do anything from this point onwards. I’ll handle them, PR and all.”

Cas nods. “Will you be alright?”

Bela turns to Hannah, who looks less confused now and is beaming at her. They’re holding hands again. “I’m sure we’ll figure it out.”

Dean believes her.

 

* * *

 

Approximately two hours after the finale airs, Sam calls him.

“Have you googled yourself yet?” Sam shrieks over the phone. Yeah, it’s _hilarious_ , Sam. “There’s a bunch of articles about the finale!”

“Son of a bitch,” Dean mutters, phone in one hand as he types in his name, and sure enough, there’re a bunch of articles with shoddy screenshots of him and Cas from whenever they were in the same camera frames. _Two finalists of_ Marrying Rich _choose each other in the epic love triangle_ , one reads. _You Won’t Guess Who Was Chosen for the Finale of_ Marrying Rich _,_ another one reads. It’s fucking ridiculous, is what it is. They probably would’ve had a field trip if they knew about all the chaos behind-the-scenes prior.

Most articles are a shade of vulgar as expected, but true to Bela’s words, there aren’t any that he considers crossing the lines: accusing any of them of fraud, accusing _Dean_ of switching teams for Cas’s family fortune, or god forbid, implying not so subtly that Dean’s been gay all along. It’s all Dean can ask for, but it doesn’t mean Dean can’t _not_ feel weird about the whole deal.

Cas isn’t too bothered by it, which makes one of them. “I’m sure people will lose interest over time, Dean. Bela and Hannah are handling it well on their side.”

Dean knows. He’s seen the article with a photo pulled from one of Bela’s social medias, of them underneath an acacia tree with their arms linked and yellow petals fallen all around them. They’re happy.

“Yeah, well,” he grumbles into his phone. “I’ve personally had enough fill of people watching my love life like I’m straight out of a soap opera. I don’t know what I was thinking, going on the show in the first place. Sam and everyone’s even using the occasion as an excuse to party it up over at Benny and Liz’s place tonight.”

Cas gives a quiet laugh, and it warms his body. “Next week, right?”

“Yeah. Can’t wait to finally give you the best blowjob of your life.”

Cas huffs into the phone. “I miss you too, Dean.”

“Augh,” Dean flushes, but Cas doesn’t know that. “You’re no fun.”

“Noted.” Dean hears the smile in Cas’s voice. It’s nice.

“Anyway, I gotta run,” Dean says with regret. Sure he’ll be seeing Cas soon, but he wants to be with him _now_. “They’ll burst in here to drag me out if I’m not there in time.”

“Alright. I should be leaving as well for now anyway,” Cas says. At least that voice will be right beside him next week. Yeah. “Until next time?”

Dean smiles. “Until next time.”


End file.
